Chapter 101: Replication Experiment 25
Before the doctors made their morning rounds, Zhuang Ningyu obediently returned to his own hospital bed. There was no medical equipment in this single room, and the oxygen tube hanging at the bedside was turned off, yet a beeping sound, faint as a mosquito’s hum, continued to ring incessantly in his ears—it was as if he had left a part of himself behind in that ICU.
The sound of orderlies pushing beds came from the corridor, accompanied by the footsteps and conversation of doctors on their rounds. It was rare for Zhuang Ningyu to lose focus, but right now, he found his brain felt as if it were soaked in glue. Every thought was excruciatingly difficult, and his nerves burned with anxiety. Just as this unbearable pain was about to reach its peak, his body—perhaps out of an instinct for self-preservation—began to release a warm numbness again. Like wet, thick white mist, it first entangled his heart, then gradually tightened its grip.
He pressed the switch on the oxygen generator, taking large gulps of air in an attempt to drive away the feeling of suffocation. Hearing the commotion, a nurse hurriedly called for the doctor. Five minutes later, two sedatives were injected into Zhuang Ningyu’s body, forcing him back into a deep sleep. Under the influence of the drugs, his violently heaving chest gradually calmed. His black hair stuck softly to his face, making his skin appear even paler, like porcelain, almost devoid of any trace of blood.
At noon, Ye Jiaoyue brought her daughter to visit him. The little girl sat by the bed, using her slender fingers to smooth out Zhuang Ningyu’s furrowed brow, and whispered to her mother, “Is big brother having a nightmare?”
She had a unique classification system for “uncles” and “brothers” that ignored age entirely; good-looking ones were all “brothers,” and only the not-so-good-looking ones were “uncles.” Zhuang Ningyu was the best-looking “brother” in her opinion. She had even asked him a science-fiction-level question once: “Brother, when can you grow smaller so you can come to kindergarten with me?”
A child’s hands have a unique softness, like the touch of a small animal. Under this clumsy comfort, Zhuang Ningyu’s brows surprisingly began to unfurl. The double dose of sedatives deprived him of all dreams; the world seemed temporarily sealed away in a sheet of white paper. He saw no one, only an exhaustion stemming from the depths of his brain, dragging him down, falling deeper and deeper.
While Wei Liying, who was under special guard, remained unconscious, things were heating up in the investigation team.
A flyer was slammed onto the table in front of Jin Yi with a loud thwack, making the founder of the “Universal Love & Benevolence” charity jump in fright. When he saw the content of the flyer, his hair practically stood on end. “This thing has nothing to do with me!”
“Why did you fund Wei Liying?” The investigator didn’t entertain his shock, cutting straight to the chase.
“I’ve answered this question so many times,” Jin Yi complained repeatedly. “Wei Liying’s daughter, the one who died in the Rule Zone, was a classmate of my daughter in kindergarten. My daughter felt sorry for her classmate’s mother, and since I happened to have this organization, I donated some money. That’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Then why donate so secretively, as if you were afraid others would find out?”
“Well…” Jin Yi gritted his teeth slightly, seemingly debating whether to speak. Looking up and meeting the investigator’s cold gaze, he decided to just spill it all. “She has a terrible reputation online and has been targeting your Captain Zhuang. If I helped her openly, wouldn’t that be asking for trouble? I have too much on my plate as it is. So I thought I’d just give her some money secretly to send her away. It was mainly to give my daughter an answer. You know how it is at that age; they’re rebellious. If you’re not careful, they throw a fit.”
His explanation sounded reasonable. In the interrogation room next door, Fang Han’s story matched Jin Yi’s. As his personal assistant and the Secretary-General of Universal Love & Benevolence, she insisted she was merely delivering money per her boss’s request. She claimed she had no idea why Wei Liying jumped, had never instigated anything, and had never seen the flyers.
In the monitoring room, Zhong Pinghe said, “Ask her how many times she met Wei Liying in total.”
The investigator complied. “How many times did you meet Wei Liying?”
Fang Han answered, “Eight times.”
“That many times? Were they all requested by your boss?”
“No, actually, I only successfully delivered money twice,” Fang Han said. “Wei Liying is not an easy person to get along with. She didn’t really need money; she just needed someone to sit with her and curse Mr. Zhuang. The first time, I refused, and she kicked me out of the house. The subsequent visits were the same. Eventually, I just perfunctorily agreed with her a couple of times before I finally managed to hand over the money.”
Zhong Pinghe watched Fang Han on the screen. Although she appeared cooperative, even a bit panicked, he knew that she was another woman highly similar to Ni Ruiling. Not only in their beautiful appearance but also in their personalities—they both enjoyed the feeling of manipulating the fates of others.
Zhong Pinghe knew Wei Liying’s file by heart: paranoid, stubborn, rigid, and conservative. Because her husband had been “lured away by a vixen” years ago, she despised young women who wore heavy makeup. She had once, during an episode, attacked an innocent woman wearing high heels and a miniskirt for no reason. This incident had caused a huge stir online; Fang Han should have known about it. Even if she didn’t, given her rigorous work habits, she should have investigated Wei Liying’s background before visiting.
If, as Fang Han claimed, her goal was to deliver the money as quickly as possible, she shouldn’t have chosen an outfit so likely to provoke the other party, thereby increasing the difficulty of her task.
But she had worn it anyway.
Whether it was to deliberately provoke Wei Liying, or because she assumed Wei Liying wouldn’t care, or perhaps because she believed she could fully control Wei Liying’s emotions—nine times out of ten, there was another secret hidden behind this.
In the hospital, Zhuang Ningyu felt as though he had woken up. He lifted his heavy eyelids to see a snow-white room and heard a soft chuckle by his ear. Turning his head in surprise, he saw Yi Ke immediately lean in attentively to kiss him, murmuring, “Wifey.”
Zhuang Ningyu’s drugged brain wasn’t entirely clear. His memory was a thoroughly shattered mirror that he couldn’t piece back together, so he could only look at the person before him in confusion, feeling that something was wrong. Yi Ke continued to smile, his knuckles gently grazing Zhuang’s face, his eyes filled with a deep, inseparable affection. Zhuang Ningyu could feel the cold trail on his cheek. Simultaneously, an emotion bordering on terror rose frantically from the bottom of his heart. The shattered shards of glass in his mind spun rapidly, finally coalescing into a blinding red.
No. He shouldn’t be here!
Upon realizing this, Zhuang Ningyu sat up, covered in cold sweat and trembling all over. His throat was so dry and cracked he felt he might cough up blood. He shoved his feet into his slippers and shoved the door open, sprinting toward the ICU.
Chaos reigned there.
The piercing alarms of monitoring instruments, medical staff rushing in and out with urgent expressions, Yi Ke’s parents struggling to stand, friends losing control of their emotions… Zhuang Ningyu went no further. He stood at the end of the corridor, staring blankly at it all. His hearing seemed to evolve again in that moment: the beeping of monitors, whimpers, sobbing, begging, comforting words, the doctors’ rapid commands—one cold medical term after another. It sounded cold, and indeed, it was cold.
Zhuang Ningyu leaned his back against the wall, his brain throbbing with agony. He opened his mouth wide, breathing rapidly, momentarily forgetting where he was. Not far away, Qing Gang squeezed out of the chaotic crowd. He didn’t notice Zhuang Ningyu, just hurriedly walked into the stairwell with his phone. “Hello, Boss… What operation… The sniper from yesterday was found? Where are they hiding? Fulin Factory District?”
Fulin Factory District.
“Officer Zhuang!” A nurse was startled by Zhuang Ningyu brushing past her in the corridor. She quickly followed, wanting to check on him, but the ward door slammed shut with a bang. The nurse carefully peeked through the glass window on the door. Seeing that he seemed to have gone into the bathroom, she quickly called a colleague to report to leadership while she guarded the door.
Three minutes later, the doctor and He Mo arrived together.
But the hospital room was empty. A hospital gown was discarded on the bed, and the wind was whistling in through the wide-open window.
The Fulin Factory District used to be a steel mill. In recent years, due to government environmental crackdowns, it had been relocated to the farther suburbs, leaving the old plant vacant and usually deserted. Several vicious stray dogs considered this their territory, eyeing every intruder hungrily and barking madly at the slightest noise. But this time, before they could react, they were taken down by sudden tranquilizer darts, collapsing onto the ground in twisted heaps.
The tactical team infiltrated silently, closing in on Warehouse No. 5 from all directions.
The wind rolled empty soda cans across the ground with a clank-clank. Inside the warehouse, a man cursed, stood by the window to look out, then turned and said something to his accomplice. Both were Burmese; one was named Ah Kun, the other Kyaw. After completing their mission, they had hidden here, planning to leave once the heat died down.
Kyaw sat on the ground, absentmindedly wiping his gun. He had executed dozens of similar missions and had never failed. Killing had become a simple game to him; only the moment the bullet sank into the target’s body did he feel a trace of pleasure. Thus, over the past twenty-plus hours, he had carefully savored the feeling of pulling the trigger yesterday countless times—a numbing sensation, like injecting an addictive stimulant into his blood.
“Woof, woof, woof!” A dog suddenly ran past the door. The two men immediately approached the window alertly but saw nothing unusual.
“Wild dog,” Ah Kun said.
But Kyaw frowned. It was a dog, but not a wild one—at least not part of the pack they had seen over the last few days.
“Move! Now!” He reacted instantly, his face changing drastically.
But before they could leave—BOOM! The heavy warehouse door was blown open. Dust and iron shrapnel flew everywhere. Gunfire erupted like dense rain, mixed with shouts of “Freeze! Police! Drop your weapons!” Bullets sliced through the air, sparking against metal shelves as the pungent smell of gunpowder instantly filled the warehouse. Kyaw fired back to force a wave of officers to retreat, stomped up the metal stairs to the second floor, smashed through the roof, and leaped toward the adjacent Warehouse No. 6. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from the pursuers’ sight!
Immediately after, with a loud crash, the rusted gate of Warehouse No. 6 slammed to the ground. The roar of an engine echoed through the factory district as Kyaw burst out on a modified motorcycle. One hand gripping the handle, the other wielding a heavy firearm, he fired wildly to break through the blockade, charging toward the southwest side of the district!
“He’s heading for the woods!”
“Pursue!”
Kyaw glanced at the rearview mirror, a sneer curling his lips. He revved the throttle to the max, holstered the gun at his waist, and prepared to launch the bike over the wall. But suddenly, a black shadow lunged straight at him!
BANG!
Caught off guard, he was sent flying. His gun fell into a puddle, and his body smashed heavily into a thick tree! The out-of-control motorcycle slammed into the wall, dealing another heavy blow to the already crumbling brickwork. Kyaw spat out bloody saliva, stood up with a fierce look, and rapidly drew another gun from his waist.
The Purgatory G7. The only firearm in the world capable of firing the JHG-08 bullet—matching the fragments removed from Yi Ke’s body.
Kyaw pulled the trigger, speaking with a sense of ceremony, “Farewell, Beau—”
The next instant, his teeth fell out of his mouth, and a terrifying crack sounded from his neck. Zhuang Ningyu dragged him by the back of his collar. Thud! Kyaw’s head was smashed into the ground, and then Zhuang dragged him forward with force!
A deep trail of blood appeared on the ground. Half of Kyaw’s face was nearly ground away, yet his evolved, special constitution meant he barely felt the pain. After being dragged for two meters like a corpse by Zhuang Ningyu, he finally found an opening to resist, a cold glint of a knife flashing in his hand!
Zhuang Ningyu dodged to the side, loosening his grip. Kyaw seized the chance to straddle the motorcycle, revving the engine to full power and rushing toward the dense forest. But very quickly, the bloody, mangled smile on his face froze. He could clearly feel that there was now an extra person behind him.
Zhuang Ningyu had caught up. He didn’t shoot, nor did he kill him. Instead, like a feline, he landed lightly on the back seat. Kyaw swayed the motorcycle, trying to throw him off, but it was futile. Seeing the steep slope on the side of the road approaching, Kyaw yanked the handlebars to correct his path, but Zhuang Ningyu swung his arm and landed a vicious punch on Kyaw’s right temple. Kyaw saw stars, and in that brief moment of distraction, the motorcycle careened out of control down the steep slope.
“Cough, cough… Pfft… You, you lunatic!” Kyaw was dazed from the fall. Before he could crawl out of the ditch, his head was forcibly shoved into a filthy puddle of rainwater. He choked and coughed, thrashing several times before violently breaking free! As a professional assassin, Kyaw felt no fear at this moment, only humiliation. Even though he had been disarmed, he didn’t run. He glared at the cold-faced man before him, clenching his fists with a sinister look.
Zhuang Ningyu casually tossed the dagger he had just stripped from Kyaw, nailing it firmly into a distant tree. Then, bare-handed, he lunged at his opponent like a beast.
The two collided violently!
Violent emotions, speed far beyond normal humans, and force capable of punching through reinforced steel. Kyaw had read Zhuang Ningyu’s file, but the attack he was facing now clearly exceeded the data. He didn’t have time to wonder if China had released false information or if his opponent had evolved again. Kyaw snapped his dislocated jaw back into place with his bare hands and spat out bloody foam. He tried to regain the upper hand, but the result was being pinned to the ground once again. A heavy knee struck his chest, seemingly squeezing all the air out of him.
Fists rained down. Kyaw finally let out a scream that sounded human. Blood kept choking into his windpipe. He groped blindly, trying to grab something, but a clear cracking sound came from his wrist. Then, another snap.
His hand had been broken into three sections. The hand that had never missed a shot was broken into three sections.
Completely destroyed.
Kyaw howled in breakdown, “NO!”
“Over here!” When the tactical team found them, Kyaw had been beaten to within an inch of his life. Both hands were broken, the bones of his right hand piercing through the torn flesh. His entire face was caved in—brow bone, nose bridge, cheekbones, almost all shattered.
Only now did Kyaw suddenly understand why Zhuang Ningyu hadn’t shot him earlier, but instead silently forced him to crash the motorcycle down the hill—it was just so he could be in a deserted place to inflict pain a hundred times more tragic and humiliating than a gunshot wound.
“Captain Zhuang.” The team members pulled the blood-soaked Zhuang Ningyu away. None of them dared to breathe loudly, stammering their report, “The… the accomplice has also been caught.”
“Good.” Zhuang Ningyu spat out a single word from his dry, hoarse throat and swayed as he walked alone up the slope.
“Captain Zhuang! Captain Zhuang!” The team members hurried to catch up, helped him into the car, and drove him back to the hospital at breakneck speed.
Zhuang Ningyu sat in the back seat, tightly gripping his silent phone. He bent over, burying his head deep in his knees. He felt like vomiting, but his stomach was empty; aside from the distinct cramping pain, it seemed even his stomach acid was gone.
He Mo and Zhuang Yan were waiting in the parking lot. Although they had received a call and were mentally prepared, they were still shocked when they saw Zhuang Ningyu’s appearance. Zhuang Yan wrapped his son in a large coat and patted him with heartache. Zhuang Ningyu lifted his head, wanting to know the answer but afraid to ask. Zhuang Yan wiped the water stains from his face and volunteered, “Little Yi is still being resuscitated. Don’t worry yet.”
Zhuang Ningyu closed his eyes, his voice hoarse. “I want to see him.”
He Mo said, “Neither Uncle Yi nor Auntie Yi could get in. You… actually, not being allowed in is a good thing, right? Not letting people in means the doctors are busy working.”
Zhuang Ningyu looked at him, and after a long time, nodded numbly. “Yeah.”
He Mo probed, “Shall we go back to the ward first?”
But Zhuang Ningyu pushed him away, fumbled around, and collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. He didn’t want to go up. He didn’t want to see the overwhelming whiteness, nor did he want to smell the disinfectant.
He Mo had no choice but to bring his own car around and carry him inside.
Inside the ICU, various monitors still alarmed intermittently. It was loud, too loud to sleep well.
Yi Ke could actually hear the sounds around him, but he couldn’t open his eyes. In his daze, he felt as though he had entered a wondrous journey—pure white, full of blooming flowers. He was holding his lover’s hand tightly, surrounded by parents, siblings, colleagues, and friends. His body seemed to float in mid-air; he could even see himself lying on the hospital bed—the bloodless face, the bare upper body, and the incised trachea.
In his dream, he frowned. What a mess I look like.
Moving his body again, Yi Ke was surprised to find that the agonizing pain in his wound seemed to be fading. An icy, strange cooling sensation slowly filled his entire chest cavity. His heartbeat felt heavy, slowing down more and more, so he relaxed comfortably, as if falling completely into a fluffy cloud.
“Drip——————————”
“Quick!” The doctor shouted. “Adrenaline!”
The maximum dose of drugs was injected, but it brought no new vitality to the cold body. The monitor showed his heartbeat had completely stopped. Alarms pierced the air, screens flashed, and the ICU was in chaos.
Five minutes later, just as the medical staff were nearing despair, someone suddenly shouted, “The patient’s heartbeat has returned!”
Thump, thump.
Each beat more steady and powerful than the last.
“Director, Director!” A nurse’s eyes widened in disbelief. “His wound—”
Everyone’s gaze snapped to Yi Ke’s chest.
They saw the originally mangled gunshot wound now healing rapidly toward the center at a speed visible to the naked eye.
